Nightmares
by pineapple desu
Summary: In which Romano has the scariest dream he has ever had.


Nightmares

Summary: In which Romano has the scariest dream he has ever had.

A/N: ... I really have no idea what the hell this is. I spent maybe an hour on this and wow, this is pretty half-arsed, but I hope you'll like it. And no, this wasn't intended to be Spamano (even though it's my OTP), but I guess you could take it like that if you want to.

* * *

Romano dreamt of tomatoes.

They were big and juicy and oh so very red. He plucked them from their leafy confines and took a bite out of it; for some reason, he could not taste it, but he knew instinctively that it was delicious. When he was done, he wiped his hands on his trousers and looked around.

He was outside the tomato bastard's house. Of course.

He walked inside without bothering to knock, and checked the living room. Spain wasn't there. He peeked into the kitchen. Not there, either. He swallowed and made his way to the Spaniard's bedroom, fearing the worst. It was only then when he noticed the unnatural silence in the normally bustling house, and his throat closed up and his chest was hurting and his eyes stung, but that didn't mean he was concerned or trying not to cry or anything, dammit!

He slammed open the door, and stared in horror at Spain, who was lying on the floor in his own pool of blood, throat slit. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords refused to work; a sound alerted a presence, and he whirled around quickly, reaching for a weapon or his white flag or anything―

It was a cheerful Spain, who opened his mouth to say something (_hola Lovi what are you doing in here you should have told me you were coming_), but was cut off by a sword suddenly piercing his back into his stomach and out, the tip smeared with blood.

"You have a sword in your fucking stomach," Romano blurted out, as if the idiot hadn't noticed.

The words made Spain gag on his own blood, yet he still managed to smile at the Italian. "Sorry, Lovi," he mouthed, and promptly keeled over.

Romano attempted to shriek, but all that escaped was a choked gasp.

He whirled around again and stared at yet another Spain, who was crawling out from underneath the bed, quite close to the blood from the first. His legs shook like they were jelly and he had to grab the door to keep from falling.

"Why?" he heard himself demand. "You died! Twice! Why―?"

Spain looked at him and blinked, seemingly confused. "I don't know what you're talking about, Lovi." As he stood up, there was a gunshot and the side of Spain's face was suddenly bleeding heavily. He once again became one with the floor, and breathed no more.

Romano was really panicking. He had no fucking idea why three Spains had just died, or why his heart was working double time, or why he was so damn upset, but hell if he wouldn't find out! Maybe he could save one of them, he thought wildly. Just one. That was all he needed.

Spain climbed in through the window. His smile was damn near blinding, and Romano ran into his waiting arms, wrapping his arms around the bastard's neck tightly. "D-dammit," he muttered, knowing his face was as red as the tomatoes he so loved.

"This is a change," Spain observed, his grip on Romano's hips loose.

Romano sniffed. "Just don't die."

"Why would I―" A butter knife flew through the window and lodged itself in Spain's skull. Romano almost started hyperventilating when the country of passion crumpled, and he pushed the man away, disgusted with both the death and his own actions.

"Okay, this is just ridiculous now," he muttered.

Another Spain walked out of the closet, giving a whole new definition to "coming out of the closet." He smiled at Romano, taking his hand and brushed his lips against the Italian's knuckles. "_Hola, mi tesoro_," he greeted, his grin becoming wider at the blush intensifying. "I've missed you."

Romano thought, more than slightly hysterical, _How can you have missed me when you just saw me?_

He would have voiced it out loud, except Spain was leaning forward and they were _not_ about to kiss. He shoved him back and was about to snap at him when he realized he'd shoved Spain into a drawer and oh, should bones be able to bend like that...

He was finally able to scream.

And then all five Spains came back to life and he was honestly scared half to death when they all latched onto one of his limbs―Spain A took hold of his knee, Spain B grabbed his left hand, Spain C seized his neck, Spain D grasped his right ankle, and Spain E gripped his right elbow.

Wait―why were there five Spains?

"This is _more_ than ridiculous," he amended his earlier statement, somehow nonplussed with the realization that it wasn't _real_. "This isn't even Sparta. This is plain madness." He shook three of them off, and smacked Spain C's hands away. "This is a crazy-ass dream."

He pinched himself and woke up.

He turned and slapped the bastard sleeping next to him.


End file.
